Christmas

The Christmas Tree lights were switched on and a small turkey was roasting in the oven. Outside the cottage was a gray and overcast day, with a drizzle coming down. Louisa had started the bird late that morning, and the sides and starters awaited their turn. When Martin suggested that he give her his gift then, she had bristled. "No, no, Martin. Let's wait until Joan comes over for Christmas dinner."

Martin cleared his throat. "I…" he stared at her, with her hair up on her head, wearing a sparkly cream-colored jumper and velvet trousers. The jumper had a V-neck so the gift would fit… right there below her suprasternal notch. "But you should have it now."

"Oh?"

Martin handed the small rectangular box to her, and he ducked his head, embarrassed.

Louisa gave him a funny look, but she unwrapped it. He eyes went wide when she saw that it was a jewelry box inside the paper. "Oh, it's lovely!" she said when she saw the contents.

Martin looked at his wife with some unease as she looked into the opened jewelry box, the wrapping paper crumpled on her lap. He hoped she liked it, for he was never certain about the reaction of human females. Did she really like it or was she just 'being nice'?

"It's an emerald!" Louisa emoted, then gave him a loving look as she held the necklace in her hand. "And such a fine gold chain." She always loved the look of emeralds but could never afford one. This was a faceted rectangle held firmly in prongs of gold, the flat link chain attached to the narrow end.

"Um, yes." He ducked his head.

"Help me put it on?" she asked, holding the necklace out to him.

Martin puzzled over the tiny clasp, dissimilar from tiny clock parts, but he managed to grasp the tiny lever which opened a lobster claw-like hook. "Turn around," he told her.

She stood there, nearly trembling while he got the thing around her neck and fastened. She put her hand on it, nestled at the base of her neck. She turned and gave Martin a hug and a fervent kiss. Perhaps this marriage stuff is just really good, she thought as she pressed her lips against his. "Thank you, Martin."

Martin returned her embrace, then said, "The man at the jewelry suggested it… but…" he sighed, "if you don't like it you can exchange it. I have the receipt."

"Take it back? Oh, no, this is…" she stopped when his mobile rang. "God. Not patient, I hope. It is Christmas Day."

Martin took out his mobile. "I'd better answer. Ellingham," he said when he answered the call.

"Martin?" an old woman's voice asked.

Not recognizing her, he told her, "Surgery's closed. Make an appointment for the day after Boxing Day if you are ill. Or go to Wadebridge if this is an emergency."

"And a Happy Christmas to you, Martin. I am old, but not ill, ha-ha. No more than I might expect for my age," she chuckled into his ear. "It's your aunt Ruth calling to wish you Holiday greetings."

"Ruth! Hello, I didn't expect a call," he said, while Louisa craned her neck to hear the other side of the call.

"Who is it?" Louisa whispered.

"My Aunt Ruth," he told his wife.

"And Joan tells me that you and your wife, Louisa are getting along… well, fine," Ruth said.

"Yes. We were just opening gifts."

"Well, then I shan't keep you. Joan also says you are expecting a child next summer?"

"That's correct," Martin answered, then he heard the old woman chuckle. "What's so amusing?"

"Dr. Martin Ellingham; a father. I hope you do a better job of it than your sire, my exasperating brother."

"The child will not be born more months yet Ruth, so I hardly see how I can act like a father to a fetus…"

Hearing that, Martin's aunt asked, "Martin, may I speak to your wife? Louisa, is it?"

Martin held out the phone to Louisa. "My Aunt Ruth. She's a criminal psychologist. Works with incarcerated people."

"Sounds like fun," Louisa answered quietly. She put the phone to her ear. "Hello. This is Louisa."

"Sorry to meet you this way, my dear," Ruth told her. "You got married quickly, I understand. A brief engagement?"

"Yes, Ruth. It was a matter of when we could get the church and things just turned out this way." Louisa braced herself for a list of penetrating questions. A criminal psychologist? The Lord knew what she'd make of my dad, pondered Louisa.

"I see. Time and tide, yes? One must take the chance when it comes along. I never quite got to that point," Ruth told her. "Ought to have, perhaps, but…" she sighed. "Oh well. Doesn't matter now. Joanie says you are the Head Teacher at your school?"

"Oh yes! Got advanced to it, but to tell the truth I didn't quite anticipate all the paperwork. Forms, reports, you know."

Ruth chuckled. "In my field, tending to those who are held by Her Majesty? It's all bloody paperwork. I'd say the whole thing would collapse if we ran out of paper." She cleared her throat. "Now, Louisa, I don't know you, nor you me – we haven't properly met – but how is Martin? Adapting to life as a GP?"

How is Martin? Louisa turned to face the man. "He's fine."

"Meaning he's standing right in front of you, and you don't want to say too much. I do understand."

"No, no. That's not it…" Louisa bit her lip. "Marriage and future parenthood, um, we both have adjustments to make."

Ruth cleared her throat. "Louisa, that is true. If only more people would realize that then the world might be a better place. Well, all the same, Happy Christmas and a Happy New Year as well. When I get down that way we'll meet one another properly. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Ruth, and a Merry Christmas to you." Louisa handed the phone back to Martin. "She sounds nice."

Martin was looking at the Christmas Tree. "I recall a Christmas when Ruth took me to dinner. I must have been perhaps eleven or so. A highly intelligent woman."

"She never married?"

"I don't believe that she wanted to. She is quite an expert in her field. Has written several books, always attending conferences and so forth." He stopped. "Plus her work with…" he stopped.

Louisa nodded. "Right. Works in prisons. Better check on the bird."

Joan arrived soon after Louisa had put the glazed brussels and carrots into the oven. Joan bore a hamper carrying a mince pie for Boxing Day plus a box of chocolates for afterwards. "I brought some cranberry sauce as well. Thought it might add to your turkey."

"Thanks awfully," Louisa told her as they greeted one another.

Joan hugged Louisa then looked down at her front. "Ah."

"Ah?"

Joan pointed to the bulge below Louisa's waist under the kitchen apron. "Oh my dear, you are showing. My goodness you are so beautiful!"

Louisa blushed. "Thank you, Joan. Eleven weeks on; almost end of the first trimester." She patted her belly. "Exciting and scary all at the same time. Feeling fat."

Joan got misty-eyed. "Wonderful, just wonderful. Have you thought up any names yet?"

Martin was stirring a cream of celery soup, which he'd fashioned himself; a recipe he remembered from his Uni days. "Hello, Joan. We don't know the gender of the fetus yet."

Joan laughed. "Hello to you nephew. Happy Christmas. Always the doctor, aren't we?"

Martin coughed. "Um, just being…"

"Overly factual is all."

Martin went back to stirring the soup pot. "Yes."

Louisa rolled her eyes at Joan, who shook her head, both women silently remarking on Martin.

Christmas dinner was good, more than good. Louisa could not recall one that was as peaceful or as satisfying. The pudding was just right, nicely warm with the citrus, nuts and sugars combined nicely into a mouth-filling dessert. Louisa was not a fan of working all the previous day on it, so had bought a one at the co-op, and only had to warm it up.

Martin was just finishing his coffee when his mobile rang.

"I thought you switched that off?" Louisa said.

"Obviously, not," grunted Joan.

Martin had to answer it. "Ellingham."

"Doc? We need help!" a young female voice said in his ear.

"Who is this?"

"It's Morwenna Newcross and Grandad's burned his hand with the kettle. For an old duffer he's pretty stoic, WWII vet and all that, but he's hurtin' really bad."

"Have you cooled the location with water?"

"Yes, yes. I'd put ice on it, but we don't have any."

"No, no! Do not use ice!" Martin looked over at Louisa. "Morwenna Newcross?" he asked.

Joan answered. "Young woman. Lives with her grandfather. Parents are away."

Martin's attention returned to the mobile. "And the burn?"

"His fingers and his palm. He was carrying the kettle by the handle and it broke off, but he caught the kettle with his other hand."

"Hot water as well?" Martin was imagining shreds of skin hanging off a full-thickness burn.

"No. Just the hot metal. Blisters."

"Right. Come to the surgery. Don't wrap his hand in anything. Leave it bare."

"Right, Doc. I'm on it! Be there in five minutes! Thanks, Doc!" the girl shouted, then hung up.

Martin lowered his mobile from his ear. He looked at Louisa. "Sorry."

Louisa shrugged. "Martin, it's not like you can control these things. People do get hurt."

Joan winced. "Morwenna Newcross. Yes. Seems to be a bit adrift. Heard she's run through a bunch of jobs. The co-op market, candy shop, even the fish market. Bakery now, I think."

Louisa winced. "She left school, what? Three four years ago?"

Joan grunted. "Five or six, more like."

Martin unlocked the front door, then went into his consulting room to get ready. He laid out first aid cream and antiseptic, plus rolls of light gauze as he heard the front door open.

A girl's voice called out, "Doc? We're here!"

In the reception room he saw a young woman, a girl really, supporting an old man by one arm. Martin had seen them both before. Vaccinations for both and the old man had a blood pressure issue. "Come through," he told them. The girl was pretty he thought, despite her outrageous garb; bright colors and long multicolor earrings. Her grandfather was quite old; upper eighties. He had wisely draped his coat over his shoulders, the injured hand hanging free and exposed.

"Hiya, Doc!" the man greeted Martin. "Seems I got some work for you to do! Sorry, 'bout makin' you work on Christmas Day…" The man held out his right hand. "Here me and Morwenna show up like travelers at the Inn in Bethlehem," he cackled. "But this does need your attention, I'm thinkin'."

Martin saw that all four fingers and palm were blistered, and the huge one across the palm had burst and was dripping a watery serum. He hissed between his teeth. He didn't like burns and he had seen too many of them, having been assigned to a burn ward where he had performed a few skin grafts. They were messy things and painful. Martin waved the pair inside and sat the man down on the exam table. "Hot kettle you said."

Morwenna winced. "Just came off the burner and then… this." She gulped and began to pant.

Martin brought a chair over. "You sit… here." He saw how her face had gone white. "No, no. Louisa!" he shouted. Best if she not be in here.

Louisa trotted into the room. "Martin?"

"I do think Miss… um…"

"Morwenna. Hi Miss Glasson, I mean Ellingham. Sorry to ruin your celebrating," she said sadly.

"Right," Martin said, "Now I think you should go with my wife to the kitchen and have tea or a biscuit or something…"

"But I want to stay," the girl said, her face suddenly wet with tears.

Louisa got the girl standing and walked her over to the passageway.

"Granddad, I'll be nearby," Morwenna said.

The old man laughed. "Don't you fret over me, Morwenna." He turned to address the Doc. "She's a good girl, but me and her depend on one another," he whispered.

Louisa escorted the girl away and closed the door, while Martin took a good look at the damaged hand. He gingerly took the elbow, holding the hand aloft. "Ahem, now Mr.…"

"Newcross. Looks to me this is a right mess," the old man said as he looked at his hand. "And hurts somethin' fierce like."

"On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?"

"Well let me see, when I caught a bullet in my leg back in '45 that were a ten, so this is about a seven." Mr. Newcross chuckled. "Course I had to lay in a foxhole for a little while 'til the aidman got to me. He dug it out using a penknife, you know. Busted my leg bone as well." He looked around the room. "Old Doc Sim would be proud of you Doc, the way you been keepin' the old place going."

Martin said, "Hold your hand in the air until I return." He left his patient and brought back a basin and a bottle of saline. "I'll rinse your hand to remove any debris, then apply burn cream – it is both an antibiotic and a painkiller."

"Right," Mr. Newcross said as Martin began to treat his injured hand. He had to bite his lips as the Doc did his work.

In the kitchen, Louisa made Morwenna take off her coat, then sat her down and poured out tea for her. "Decaf, I'm afraid." She ducked her head, "No caffeine for me for the duration," she explained. Then she handed the girl a box of tissues.

Morwenna took one and wiped her face. "Decaf?" She stared at her for a few seconds. "Oh right. I heard you and the Doc are having a baby."

"A while yet," Joan butted in. "How are you, Morwenna?"

"Oh, fine…" she sighed. "But for," she looked over her shoulder towards Martin's exam room.

"He'll be fine," Louisa told her. "Now, biscuit?"

Morwenna numbly picked one up and bit into it. "Thumbprint cookies. My mum used to make these. Hm, marmalade."

Louisa asked, "How are your parents, Morwenna? Uganda is it?"

"Kenya. They had a mission in Meru on the northwest side of Mont Kenya. Mum teaches the kids and does low level nursing while my dad runs the mission and is a jack of all trades too, plus Sunday Services. Basic mission stuff, you know."

Joan smiled, leaning towards the girl. She knew the story; how mum and dad were off doing good work, leaving their only child behind with a widowed grandfather. Joan always wondered about them. Weren't there good works to be done here in Cornwall? Shifting her mind away from judgmental matters, she smiled at the girl; no – a young woman. "I heard you are now working at the bakery."